Clay was so little but still a competent skater, always trying to keep up with his sister and brother. With Frank and I holding a hand each, we’d lift him for the jump over the curb at the end of each pavement, then up and over the start of the next one, and off he’d skate.
Thoughts of Snails and Puppy-dog Tails
“By the time he died, he’d eaten escargot in Paris, played in a band to a crowd, and fallen in love. You would choose it over and over and over again.”
Come Together
“I was overcome by a desperate need to hear those shopkeepers speak about Clay. Anything at all, whatever they could remember, which was quite possibly nothing.”
The Lonely Trail
“I heard once that bereavement is an inherently lonely journey, which I dismissed at the time. I have plenty of company in my grief.”
Learning to Live with Loss
“…a thousand things I could name that slipped away, one after another, since we lost our beautiful boy. But I don’t ever name them, because they’re not coming back.”
clay fragments 